The Girl in the Attic
by LalSoong1687
Summary: The skeletal remains of a 10-year old girl are found in the attic of a mansion recently placed on the market. Case file begins after the prologue.
1. Prologue

The Girl in the Attic

A Bones File

Relationships: Hodgins/Angela (established), Booth/Brennan (insinuated)

Definite case file, but we'll get to that after the prologue :)

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I've only borrowed them. Feel free to comment. I handle criticism well! That's how we grow as writers :)

Prologue

The day had finally arrived. Hodgins had swallowed a pound of dirt. Not literally, but not even a gallon of coffee that morning had cleared his dry throat. As they sat down in the front bench at the district courthouse, he affectionately grasped Angela's hand, needing her support as much as she needed his. They waited for the judge to begin. Neither of them dared glance across the courtroom where Angela's estranged husband, Grayson Barasa, reluctantly sat. To acknowledge him might send the dreadful reality crashing down on them.

"Miss Montenegro," Judge Anderson addressed her. He was a heavy-set man in his fifties, who did not appear as though he smiled much. Uncomfortable facing the man, Jack realized the judge was his only hope at finally marrying Angela.

Angela stood quickly to acknowledge Judge Anderson, while her fingers lingered on Jack's grip for a moment longer. She was wearing a conservative grey suit skirt and black heels that brought her height an inch above Hodgins'. "Yes, your honor," she replied.

"You requested this hearing to petition the court to grant an annulment between the marriage of you, Angela Montenegro and Grayson Barasa. Is that correct?"

"That is correct, your honor."

Hodgins wanted to stand with Angela. If he did, he wasn't certain that he could refrain from blurting out his opinions. He did not want to annoy the judge and affect the outcome. Over the years, he had grown comfortable with offering witness testimony on numerous murder cases, but this, this was so different. This was personal.

"I have here a copy of your marriage license. The place for the husband's signature is signed only with an X." The judge turned to address Barasa. "Mr. Barasa, are you unable to sign your name or was it your intention to dessert your wife?"

The black forty-something man smoothed his tie then slowly rose before the judge to his full height of six and a half feet. Hodgins hated to admit that the man was quite handsome. Looking back at Angela, he was relieved that she was peering down at him rather than at Berasa. "Your honor, I grew up as a farmer's son," the estranged husband replied in a thick Brazilian accent. "I learned everything I need to know from him."

"Yes. That seems quite apparent." The judge paused before turning back toward Angela. "Miss Montenegro, can you explain why you waited four years before drawing up annulment papers?"

"Quite honestly, your honor, it was my misconception that it was not a legal ceremony. We were partying on the beach, getting drunk...jumping the broom was a natural transition. I did not know I was actually married until I tried to marry another man." She nodded toward Hodgins. Her fiancé smiled up at her. "This man, your honor, whom I still very much want to marry."

The judge nodded without comment. "Mr. Barasa, when a private investigator–" Anderson looked at his case notes, "an Amber Kepler, came to you several months ago with these annulment papers, you refused to sign them. Why is it that you refused after a four-year separation?"

Barasa clutched his hands together as if to pray. "Because I love Angela very deeply. She smiles like an angel; her eyes sparkle like diamonds. I can still hear the ocean tide lapping against her bare feet. If she hadn't been so quick to return to the States, I could have made her very, very happy."

"Oh please," Angela mumbled. She intended the comment only for Hodgins, but spoke an octave above a whisper. Quickly, raising her voice: "Your honor, if I may?"

"You may, Miss Montenegro," the judge allowed, though he seemed a little annoyed.

"I hardly think that a few days on the beach several years ago can count as consummating a marriage. We are strangers. I have no feelings for Mr. Berasa and poetry or not, there is no way his feelings for me are genuine. We just jumped the broom for God's sake! It was an honest mistake and I just want out." Angela fought against tears, losing the battle.

"Mr. Barasa, do you have any response to this?"

"In my culture, marriage is for life. I honor my family; I honor my wife. I built her a home and have waited patiently all these years for her to come back to me. I will continue to wait if the Lord be willing." He bowed his head and despite his incredible height, he looked like a lost boy.

"That is very touching," the judge admitted. For a moment, Hodgins' heart sank as he imagined the judge denying the divorce petition. "However, in the United States of America, when a marriage has not been viable for nearly five years and one of the parties involved wishes to divorce the other, there is no reasonable grounds for dismissal of the petition." He picked up his gavel. "I hereby grant the dissolution of the marriage between Angela Montenegro and Grayson Berasa." He pounded his gavel. "Mr. Berasa, you will sign the papers – with an X if necessary– before leaving the courthouse today."

With a loud hoot, Hodgins stood up and taking Angela into his arms, kissed her then hugged her fiercely." Over Angela's shoulder, he eyed the judge. Although the judge shook his head, he had the good sense to overlook the outburst.

Hodgins and Angela celebrated that evening at Verinaci's, an up-scale Italian restaurant on the west side. Angela had slipped into a sky-blue, low-cut dress while Hodgins was wearing an Armani suit that cost more than Angela made in two weeks.

"Angela," Jack began after their waiter had deposited two sparkling glasses of wine between them. "Should we be planning a wedding for next week?"

"No," Angela replied coolly as she ran the tips of her fingers along the rim of her glass. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling more than the wine. "Just kidding, Sweetie. You know I can't wait another day."

Hodgins sighed with relief. Angela had certainly kept him on edge for the duration of their relationship. He anticipated much more of the same from this woman and looked forward to the adventures they would share.

As she thumbed through the menu, Angela was more focused on her fiancé. "I'm really silly for expecting you to move into my place when you have this big house," she admitted. "I can just lease my duplex and move in with you."

"I've been thinking about that, too, Angie," Jack reached out to grasp her hand. "Let's buy a new house together."

"You'd give up your big old house for me?" Angela's voice cracked. His unselfish love for her still left her amazed at times.

"We'll get a bigger house – a million kids, right? We'll need the room for them."

Angela smiled sweetly. Nothing in her life had ever felt as right as the idea of having a litter of kids and growing old with this man.

A week later, they were married.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

"I don't understand why we are doing this, Booth," Dr. Temperance Brennan said as she followed her partner down the path toward the lake. The evening sun cast an orange glow between the branches of maples, oaks and other deciduous trees and offered no relief from the heat. "If you want fish for dinner, you should go to the market and buy it. That's why there are fishermen who go out on big boats to catch the fish for us."

"Come on, Bones," Special Agent Seeley Booth replied, not about to let his socially-inept partner spoil the evening he had planned. "You are completely missing the point. It's Saturday, the weekend! Time for rest and relaxation. What could be more relaxing than sitting on the peer, drinking a beer, and waiting for the fish to bite. I paid for your fishing license. Now relax!" Neither of them had to mention that Brennan's income was about ten times that of Booth's; Both of them knew that he _needed_ to buy the license for her.

He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt with Wile E. Coyote setting off a TNT blast. In contrast, Brennan wore a blouse and slacks. They were both carrying fishing poles. Brennon was carrying a small cooler, while Booth carried a rather large tacklebox of assorted items he had collected over the years. They reached the end of the peer and sat down. Booth opened his tacklebox and baited his partner's hook.

"Need me to cast it for you?" he offered, seeing this as another opportunity to teach the genius doctor something practical. He really enjoyed these moments when he complemented her. Though he held no doctorate of his own, he had much wisdom and experience to share with the socially challenged.

"No. I'm perfectly capable of baiting a hook and casting a line." Brennan wrenched the fishing pole from Booth's hands and with her upper body strength, cast the line into the lake's depth. She smugly watched as her bobber moved up and down in the rippling water.

"I'm impressed," Booth admitted. "You sure you haven't done this before?" He began preparing his own hook.

"No one ever offered to take me fishing before." Despite her declaration against small-time fishing, Brennan sounded genuinely touched that Booth had invited her.

"Well, Bones, maybe I should come up with more fun and exciting activities for us on the weekends." He cast his line and it landed just short of Brennan's. He frowned without missing a beat in the conversation "You don't want to go on living a sheltered life."

"I do not live a sheltered life! I go out. I have fun."

"Sure, if you call attending mandatory holiday gatherings at the Jeffersonian getting out and having fun." He reached into the cooler and pulled out a beer. "Your life is only about your work..." He popped the top and took a swig of his beer. "...and that's just wrong, Bones. There needs to be more."

"I read for enjoyment."

"What the _Anthropological Journal for Nerds_?"

Brennan scowled, but before she could comment, something tugged at her line. With a shriek, she wheeled it in and pulled up a good-sized perch. Laughing, she said, "You're right, Booth. This is relaxing."

Shaking his head, Booth continued to sit, drink his beer, and wait for a tug on his own line.

With a temperature still above eighty degrees, most people in the DC area were seeking the comfort of air conditioning. Yet, Angela Hodgins, dressed in a flowery sun dress, and her husband of exactly ten days, arrived at 10516 Clearview Road with unbound enthusiasm. As they stepped out of Jack's 1996 Jaguar, a black Sedan pulled up behind them.

Angela stared in awe at the two-story Victorian mansion. A woman needed to be no less than a queen to dwell in such a place. She smiled, remembering that Jack _was_ the king of the lab.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" the agent asked as she approached them. She was in her mid 40s, with short brown hair and sharply dressed in a brown skirt and matching jacket. She held out her hand, first to Jack, then to Angela. Hodgins introduced himself and his wife. "Glad to meet you. I'm Amanda Feldman. Thank you for coming out here."

As they walked the length of the drive to the front porch, she continued: "This house just came on the market." She stepped up to the door and entering the pass code and removed the key from the box. "It's a repo, so it's being offered way below market value." She turned the key in the lock.

Neither Hodgins nor Angela bothered to tell the woman that price was not an issue.

"The family that previously owned the home were only using the first floor at the time it was repossessed. The top floor had been boarded up for a while."

"We would definitely be using the top floor," Angela informed her. They stepped through the foyer and into the living room. "Whoa!" Angela gasped. The approximately 30-by-20-foot living room was painted a cerulean blue and showcased a massive fireplace. Angela walked a few paces along the variegated burbar carpet before turning to smile at her husband. "Why would anyone own such a gorgeous house and not use all of it?" Angela wondered aloud.

"It's beautiful," the real estate agent agreed, then moved toward the kitchen on the other side of the foyer.

Hodgins lingered in the living room for a moment to peer out the big picture window. He could barely make out the next house, hiding behind a grove of trees. Nodding, he turned to join the women in the kitchen.

The sunshine-yellow country kitchen offered a long island counter equipped with a sink, built-in chopping board and plenty of storage space. Being a man of experiments, Hodgins anticipated not only the usefulness of this set up, but also the opportunity to dote on Angela with gourmet meals. The countertops were made of marble; the cupboards were made of oak. Whoever had designed this place had had exquisite tastes.

Angela's heels clicked against the tiled floor as she circled the island and studied the room from every angle. As she came around to stand next to her husband, she eyed the breakfast nook. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, noticing the view. The bay window opened up to the beautifully landscaped backyard, which included a small pond. "Our kids are going to love eating here."

"How many children do you have?" the agent asked casually.

"None yet," Hodgins admitted, "but Angela wants a bunch." The thought always sent shivers down his spine. Until Angela, he had always expected that he would plan one or two children with his future wife. Now, he had grown to like the idea of a dozen kids running around.

"This place would be perfect for raising children," the real-estate agent advised them, always eager to make a sale.

They moved on to the large formal dining and family room. The elegant oak table would sit eight comfortably. Angela imagined hosting a dinner party in this room.

"There are two bedrooms on the lower level, off the living room," Feldman informed them. The second floor has four more bedrooms including a master suite."

"Ooh, I want to see the master suite," Angela said. They followed Feldman back out to the foyer where a door opened up to an enclosed stairway. The agent ran her hand along the frame as she opened the door. "Looks like there are nail holes where they boarded up this door. A good carpenter could fix that for you."

"It's a shame they had to mar the original woodwork," Angela commented.

"They did it to cut down on heating costs. The previous owners really bought outside their means and when they ran into financial trouble, the lender foreclosed on the property." She gestured for the young couple to proceed her up the stairway and followed a few paces behind.

"Wow, what a difference," Angela observed as she ran her hand along the wallpaper that looked like it was made during the 1960s.

"We'll hire an interior decorator," Hodgins promised her.

Angela smirked at her husband. "Jack, I'm an artist. I'd like to take a stab at it."

Jack kissed his wife. "I'll leave it all up to you," he said, giving her free reign to decorate as she pleased. He loved everything Angela created and enjoyed the thought of having her little touches throughout their home.

"Let's take a look at the master bedroom," Angela said, leading her husband by the hand down the hall. Feldman wisely waited out in the hall.

The walls of the master bedroom were also covered with antiquated wallpaper. The bedroom led into a sitting area, which opened up to a balcony. Below the balcony, they had a magnificent view of the pond below.

Standing beside the sliding glass doors, Hodgins wrapped his arms around Angela. "What do you think, baby?" He nuzzled her on the neck.

"Do you smell something?" Angela asked, wrinkling her nose. She pulled away from her husband to scrutinize their surroundings.

"That wasn't quite the reaction I expected."

"I'm serious! Something doesn't smell right up here."

Hodgins began sniffing and picked up the odor. It led them back out to the hallway near the entrance to the attic. They peered up at it. Hodgins could definitely sense a distinct odor now.

"Is there a problem?" Feldman asked, alarmed.

"There could be," Hodgins replied. "It's probably just mice, but no one will want to buy this place as long as that smell lingers."

Looking around, he spotted an old chair and carried it over so he could stand just under the attic entrance. He pulled on the latch and the decaying odor grew instantly stronger. The agent stepped back, covering her mouth and nose with her hand. Hodgins hoisted himself up through the attic entrance. Only one small window allowed light to enter the attic, but it was enough. Tiny carcasses littered across the attic floor confirmed his suspicion. In one corner of the attic, wrapped partially in a blanket that had been chewed away, a small figure stared lifelessly back at Hodgins.

Nearly toppling off the chair as he came down, Hodgins scrambled for his phone and speed dialed Booth's number.

An hour into their fishing expedition, Brennan had caught six to Booth's one fish. "You are not going to convince me that this was beginners luck," Booth said.

"In this case, luck had nothing to do with it," Brennan admitted. "There's very little skill involved in fishing. I'm sure on another day, I would not catch any fish."

"Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that." Booth's phone let out a sharp trill and reaching into the pocket of his shorts, he answered it. "Booth," he responded. He listened for a moment as Brennan watched him. From his expression, it was obvious that their evening of relaxation was over. "Call the local police and hang tight. Bones and I will be there as soon as possible." He hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket. "This time, instead of the body coming to the Jeffersonian – the Jeffersonian has come to the body."

"What?"

"Hodgins and Angela just found skeletal remains in the attic of the house they were looking at."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The red flashing lights of two patrol cars lit up the front lawn at 10516 Clearview Road. After giving the officers a statement, Hodgins joined Angela sitting on the bench on the front porch. He grasped her hand.

"Something is really conspiring against us," she said between a laugh and a tear. Why did she and Jack confront obstacles every step of their relationship?

"Hey, we _are_ married," Hodgins reminded her. The biggest obstacle was passed them. "We can handle anything that comes our way. We're unbeatable." He wrapped his arm around her and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

A moment later, Booth's SUV pulled into the driveway and he and Brennan quickly stepped out. Booth removed his sunglasses and tossed them onto the dash. They stepped onto the porch. "Hodgins, Angela," Booth acknowledged them. "I guess the honeymoon is over."

"Came back home just yesterday," Hodgins replied. "Venice was everything we could have imagined.

"And much more," Angela said with a smile, wishing they were still in Italy. She'd give almost anything not to have lived through this evening.

"I don't need all the details," Booth said quickly.

One of the officers approached them, eager to pass this case on to a forensic anthropologist and the FBI. "Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan," he said. "I'm Officer Edwin Bauer." Rail-thin, he was in his early 30s. "If you would follow me, please."

"We'll talk later," Brennan told her best friend.

The officer led them into the house and upstairs to the entrance to the attic where an extension ladder had been placed. He removed a flashlight latched onto his belt and handed it to Brennan. She climbed up the ladder, switching on the flashlight as she reached the top. After she had ascended into the attic, Booth followed her up.

"Young girl, approximately ten to twelve years old," Brennan assessed. "She's been dead approximately six months." She turned to acknowledge Bauer who had joined them. "Get more lighting up here, so we can photograph the body. I need a stretcher to strap the remains to. I don't want her damaged on the way down."

"I'll get right on it," Bauer promised and headed back down the ladder.

Brennan flashed the light on the victim's chest as she gently pulled back the blanket. The girl's long nails had blackened and curled back against the palms of her hands.

"That's unusual," Booth commented. He'd seen plenty of skeletal remains working along side Brennan, but this was the first time he'd seen black fingernails.

"It's indicative of some type of poison," the forensic anthropologist informed him. "I'll have Hodgins run a toxin screen tomorrow."

"Bones, tomorrow's Sunday. Can't it wait until Monday? This girl isn't going to become any more dead."

Brennan nodded slowly, though she didn't understand why Sunday had to be everyone's choice for a day off.

After returning home, Jack and Angela retreated to the living room where Jack poured two glasses of wine to help calm their nerves. Angela was still shaking when she accepted the glass from her husband.

"You would think I could handle this better," she said. "I see remains every day on the job."

"That's why. This wasn't the job. Neither of us ever expected our jobs to cross over into our personal lives." He wrapped an arm around her.

Angela sipped at the wine, feeling its soothing warmth coarse down her throat. "I'm rethinking this whole idea. We could be happy here." She took in the living room. "We've got five bedrooms, formal dining room, over 3,000 square feet of living space, a huge yard..."

"Angela, let's go upstairs. I'll make you feel better."

She smiled, realizing she had been rambling. She allowed her husband to lead her upstairs, down the hall, and into the master bedroom. She wanted him to work his magic, to help her forget how horribly wrong their good house hunting had gone.

Setting their wine glasses on the end table, they slipped out of their clothes. Jack began massaging Angela's shoulders and she realized how tense she had become as he smoothed out the knots in her muscles. His lips caressed her neck. They fell onto the king-sized bed, him on top, locked in a kiss.

"Feeling any better?" he asked as they came up for air.

"A little," she replied. She enjoyed teasing her husband. It kept their relationship exciting. Running his hand gently through her hair, Jack waited for her to say more. "I don't want to wait."

"What?"

"I want to start trying right away. We deal with death every day. This evening...that little girl...it really got me thinking. I just want to bring a little life into the world."

"Ok," Jack agreed with a grin. "Sounds like fun." She responded eagerly to his caresses. Soon, neither of them were thinking about the girl in the attic.

Sunday, 9:05 am

"The victim was probably exposed to extreme cold for a long period of time," Brennan said as Alex Tryst, an anthropology student entered the lab. "I need you to run density scans on the hands and feet."

"I'll get right on it," Tryst said. He studied the skeletal remains, lifting the victim's right hand. Since Zack Addy had been transported to St. Elizabeth's Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Brennan had been rotating students in the assistant's position until she found the right candidate to replace him. So eager to please the difficult Dr. Brennan, Tryst overlooked her lack of pleasantries and always offered his own, though they went unnoticed.

Standing on the other side of the examining table, Dr. Camille Sayoran looked up at the student. "Thanks for coming in on a Sunday," she said.

The young grad student smiled his appreciation. He would do anything to win points with the astute Dr. Temperance Brennan. "No problem."

Using a small scraping tool, Cam removed some residue from under the girl's nails. Retrieving a second vile with the semen she had already collected from the blanket, she said, "I'll examine this in my lab and give you my report before I leave." She had every intention of not spending her entire Sunday at the lab.

"Can you leave it on my desk?" Brennan asked as she removed her lab coat. "I have to go." Without explanation, she dashed out of the lab.

Cam and Tryst eyed one another with curiosity before parting to run their individual tests.

Three hours later, Brennan was sitting at the Royal Diner waiting for her partner to arrive. When he arrived, Booth sat across from her and set a folder between them. His Sunday's best included a poka-dot tie and a belt buckle that said "stud." He signaled for the waitress to bring him a cup of coffee.

"The real estate agent who put the house on the market said that the stairway was completely boarded up when he first entered," Booth informed his partner. "There was no evidence that it had been tampered with. So, how do you get a ten-year old girl up a stairway that's blocked off?"

"You take another route," Brennan concluded. "The killer must have carried her up the balcony and through the master bedroom."

"Exactly. Agents on the scene are examining every inch of the balcony and master bedroom. What do you think, Bones? Was the girl already dead when they brought her up there or was she tortured?"

"There was semen on the blanket, a great deal of foreign matter under her nails...this girl was most certainly held up in that attic for a prolonged time, molested, nearly frozen to death, and then poisoned."

"Damn Bones, I've seen so many kids dead, but I never get used to the idea."

The waitress brought over his coffee. "Anything else I can get you, Agent Booth?"

"Thanks Gladys. I don't really have much of an appetite today."

"You know where to find me if you change your mind." She turned on her heel and stepped back behind the counter.

"The previous owners, Jared and Melinda Crawford, have two sons ages six and eight," Booth continued as he opened the folder. On top of the papers was a fax of the county record of the property at 10516 Clearview Road. "They split up shortly after losing the house. Crawford moved to Florida. Our office in Jackson has already been advised to pick him up for questioning. The wife and two boys are living in an apartment in downtown. What do you say we pay her a personal visit?"

"Are you working on a Sunday now?" Brennan asked, remembering how he'd chastised her the day before.

"I meant you shouldn't expect people to work on a Sunday. Not that some don't. I went to church this morning. Now I'm free to work on the case." He took a sip of his coffee. "What about you? What did you do this morning? I bet you just came from the lab."

"Actually, I was at the lab for a bit." She did not volunteer any information about where she'd been since. "I need to go back there later to collect the results of Cam's and that of the forensic student's tests."

Booth furrowed his brow. If Brennan hadn't spent the entire morning at the Jeffersonian Institute then where had she gone?

"We can do that on our way back from visiting Melinda Crawford," she said as she slid out of the booth seat. Booth took one more sip of his coffee, tossed enough change for it and a tip onto the table top, then followed his partner out of the diner.

The apartment complex where Melinda Crawford now resided, while upscale, was a definite drop in lifestyle from the mansion on Clearview. Booth and Brennan approached the building and he pressed the buzzer to Crawford's apartment. When a woman answered, he identified himself as a special agent of the FBI.

"FBI?" she responded. "What in the world?" She buzzed them inside.

Booth and Brennan eyed one another curiously before stepping through the door. Did Melinda Crawford have no idea about the girl left in her attic?

A blond woman about thirty years old had her apartment door opened before Booth and Brennan stepped off the elevator. As they approached her, Booth said, "Mrs. Crawford, thanks for seeing us." He flashed his badge to assure her they were who they claimed.

"What's this about, Agent Booth?" Crawford asked as she let them inside.

Booth heard children playing in another room. "Mrs. Crawford, you and your husband, Jared, lived at 10516 Clearview Road until four months ago. Correct?"

"Yes. The mortgage company foreclosed on us. It's not that we didn't try. My husband is a stockbroker. He made a couple of bad investments." She seemed desperate that people not think badly of her.

Booth made a mental note that Crawford said "my husband" as though they were not in the middle of a divorce. "It's our understanding that you had the upstairs boarded off."

"To cut down on the heating costs."

"Mrs. Crawford, did you ever let any young girls into your home? Booth asked.

"What? No. I have two sons, Agent Booth. All their friends are boys. What is this about?" she asked again.

"Are you aware that the remains of a young girl were left in the attic at Clearview?" Brennan asked. She only considered the results not the shock value.

"Oh my God!" The woman was speechless for a moment as she digested the news. "How could that have happened?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Booth responded. "Did your husband ever behave suspiciously like he might have wanted to get you out of the house?"

"No! Jared and I have our differences, but he's a good man. He would never harm anyone, especially a child."

"Why did you and your husband split up?" Brennan asked.

Crawford eyed the doctor with annoyance. She obviously did not want to relive the details. "We worked hard to get where we were and Jared squandered away a huge portion of our investments. I have to live in an apartment now. His support is rather inadequate."

Booth glanced at his partner to see if she too spotted a contradiction in Melinda Crawford's description of her husband. Was he a good man or was he inadequate?

"Did you or your husband ever allow anyone else into your home?" Booth asked, bringing the focus back on Clearview.

"Just our babysitter, Emily. She watched the boys after school until I came home from work.

"Mom, mom!" an eight-year old boy yelled as he ran out into the room. He stopped when he noticed Booth and Brennan. "Are you a cop?" he asked Booth.

"Yeah. You want to see my badge?" Booth whipped out his FBI badge to show the boy. "Mrs. Crawford, we'll need the name and address of your babysitter. And if you think of anyone else you might have let into your house, housekeeper, gardener, whoever, we'll need their names too."

Melinda Crawford stood up, found a pad and pen near the telephone and jotted down the information before tearing out the page and handing it to Booth. "I hope you catch whoever did this," she told him as she hugged her boy. "I swear to you that I had no knowledge of it. I love my children. I love all children."

"We'll be in touch if we need any further information from you," Booth said. Brennan followed him out of the apartment and out of the building.

"So Bones," Booth said as he slipped on his sunglasses, "do you think she's protecting the husband?"

"She seemed sincere enough," Brennan responded. "Let's see what story the lab tests tell."

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	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Angela sat at her desk as she penciled in the final touches of her sketch. A smiling ten-year old girl stared back at her. She always drew the victims happy, better to imagine how he or she might have been in life rather than in death. She did not want to think about how or why the victim died. Her job was to find out who the victim was.

Satisfied with her sketch, Angela walked out of her office and approached Jack's station. "Wasn't she beautiful," she asked him as she tilted the sketch in his direction.

Jack set down his huge yellow coffee cup with the Jeffersonian label to peer at the sketch. "A lovely little girl," he responded.

Cam approached them and studied Angela's rendering of the little girl. "It's amazing how quickly you work sometimes, Angela. Good job!"

"Thanks," Angela replied with a thin smile, stuck between wanting to show pride for her work and respect for the victim.

"I found something interesting that explains the blackened fingernails," Hodgins informed them. "A bipyridyl herbicide known as paraquat. Farmers use it to clear land of weeds before they plant their crops. Ingestion of the chemical causes fluid build up in the lungs and kidney failure."

"So the killer would have had to have gotten this paraquat from a commercial farmer," Cam intuited.

"Exactly. Your average gardener would not have the license to use such a herbicide."

"I'll run a search for farms in the area that use paraquat." She turned and started to walk away. "Thanks Hodgins," she added without turning back.

"No problem."

"So lover boy," Angela said once Cam had left. "Where are you taking me to lunch?"

"Oh, I haven't run out of places in the D.C. area to dazzle you with yet," he replied mysteriously. "You'll see."

"All right." Placing her hands on his shoulders, she kissed him tenderly. "Let me run this sketch through the missing children's database, then I'm all yours. After Angela scanned in the sketch the computer found a match within a few minutes. She speed dialed Brennan.

"So did you go to church yesterday?" Brennan asked, trying to make the question sound like idle chat when she was actually probing. She was sitting in the passenger seat of his SUV.

"As always," Booth responded, glancing at her. Brennan hated that he wore sunglasses when he drove. She found it difficult enough to read his expressions normally; the sunglasses made it impossible.

"Then how did you find the time to investigate this case? You had a fairly hefty case file by lunchtime yesterday."

"Bones, I am just talented in that way. And while we're on the subject of Sunday morning, you never did tell me what you were doing yesterday."

Before she could respond, Brennan's cell phone rang. "Brennan," she answered.

"Sweetie, I got an ID for you," Angela informed her. "Heidi Leidel, age ten. She went missing January 2nd this year from Alexandria, Virginia. I'll text the address and directions to your cell."

"Wonderful. Thanks, Angela!" Brennan hung up her phone and looked at her partner. "Angela Identified the victim from the missing children's database." A moment later, her phone beeped, letting her know that Angela's text had come through.

They arrived at the small complex of one-story apartment flats where Emily Gilbert lived. Booth knocked on her door, then a second time when she did not answer. Someone pulled back the curtain to peek at them before coming to the door. A woman in her twenties answered, wearing a waitress uniform. Her long auburn hair was pulled back loosely in a Scrunchy.

"Please tell me you ain't Jehovah's Witnesses," she said. "I got to leave for work in like fifteen minutes."

Booth flashed his badge. "Special Agent Seeley Booth. This is Dr. Temperance Brennan. You better call into work and tell them you'll be a little late."

"Oh crap."

A couple minutes later after Gilbert had called the diner where she worked, they were sitting in her tiny living room. Gilbert was smoking a cigarette to Brennan's distaste. Booth informed her why they were there.

"How awful!" Gilbert exclaimed. "And you don't have any idea how this little girl got up there?"

"Oh, we have some ideas," Booth responded, watching her reaction closely as she narrowed her eyes. "Would you mind telling us who you let into the Crawford house without their knowledge?"

"Me! Why would I do such a thing?" She puffed heavily on her cigarette, obviously nervous.

"Why wouldn't you? You had a big house to play in, no other adults around. Two small boys could easily be preoccupied with TV or video games."

"Ok. Ok. I may have let my boyfriend come over a couple of times. We did a little hanky panky. Nothing illegal in that!"

"On your own time," Brennan said. "You wee remiss in your duty to those little boys who counted on your guidance."

"The Crawfords never found out about the boyfriend?" Booth asked.

"Hell no." She flicked her ashes into an ash tray on the coffee table. "I woulda got fired!"

"You no longer babysit for them," Booth concluded. "Why is that?"

"Why would I want to after they moved out of that mansion? I stare at apartment walls all day." She spread her arms to remind them of where they were. "Why would I want to work in one?"

"So you didn't grow an attachment to the boys?"

"Those brats? Hardly!"

Booth cringed at her attitude. He couldn't spend enough time with his son, Parker. It really irritated him when other adults were disrespectful toward children. "Miss Gilbert, we need the name of your boyfriend."

She sighed as though it pained her to say his name. "Brian Lewis, but he ain't my boyfriend no more."

"Why's that?"

"He liked another girl better than me." A silence crept between them as the implications of her accusation sank in.

"How young was this other girl?" Brennan asked.

Gilbert hesitated, not expecting the question. "A lot younger than me," she responded. Was that jealousy in her expression? Booth wondered.

"Over eighteen, under eighteen," Booth prodded.

"Under, definitely. I was an old maid to him."

"Was Lewis molesting this girl?"

"How should I know!" she yelled, taking affront. "Do you think I'm some kinda sick freak who'd watch?"

"Do you know Lewis' whereabouts?"

"Nope. And I don't care to know. He's the biggest jerk in the world. He really knows how to make a girl feel like second best." Not only was she jealous, but Booth was now convinced that she thought the girl was a willing participant in her molestation.

"We'll need a picture of him then."

"Ya'll be lucky if I still have one." She snuffed out her cigarette, then got up to go into another room. A minute later, she returned with a photo album. She set it on the coffee table and began thumbing through it. Here ya are!" she exclaimed, peeling back the plastic to remove a picture of a tall, scruffy man in his late twenties. "Keep it. I'll just burn it if ya give it back."

"Thank you for your cooperation," Booth said. He said this to mollify her, while silently questioning her honesty. "We'll be in touch if we need any further information."

The worst part of the job was visiting the family of the deceased, especially when the victim was a child.

A woman of about forty answered the door and Booth introduced himself and Brennan. "Mrs. Leidel, is your husband home?"

"He's at the office," Samantha Leidel replied. "This is about Heidi, isn't it?"

Nodding, Booth said, "I think you better call your husband and ask him to come home."

By the time her husband had arrived, Samantha Leidel had made a fresh pot of coffee and baked a batch of sugar cookies, the kind that came premade from the store. She needed to play the role of the dutiful hostess to avoid succumbing to the overwhelming grief inside her.

"Samantha?" her husband said as he entered the living room. He looked straight at Booth, expecting the agent to answer.

"Mr. Leidel," Booth said, "If you would please have a seat beside your wife."

Leidel walked passed his wife to sit to her left on the burgundy sofa. He grasped her hand and they waited anxiously for the expected news.

"Your daughter was found in the attic of a house on the east side of D.C. She'd been there for six months."

"She was molested, then poisoned," Brennan added.

The father broke down first, sobbing into his hands.

"The other girls came back after two or three days," Samantha Leidel informed them. "We just thought Heidi–"

"What other girls?" Booth asked.

Mrs. Leidel looked toward her husband, bewildered. She could not understand why an FBI agent would not know about the other girls. "Three other girls from Heidi's school were taken before her–but they were all returned. They had been molested, but physically, they were fine. Then Heidi was taken and days, weeks went by. Why didn't he return our little girl to us?" Finally, breaking down, she covered her tear-streaked face against her husband's chest. He placed an arm around her.

"I understand how difficult this is," Booth apologized. "I have just one more question for you: Did you ever receive any ransom demand?"

Both parents shook their heads. "For a while, we had hope," Mr. Leidel said. "When she didn't come back after weeks, I knew my little girl was gone."

"When will we be able to bury Heidi?" Samantha asked.

"Soon," Brennan promised. "Let me know the funeral home you wish to use and I'll make the arrangements for them to pick her up."

"Thank you."

Once they were back in Booth's SUV and before they were back on the road, Booth called FBI headquarters in D.C. and requested I.D.s and photographs of the other girls kidnapped from Heidi Leidel's school, which the other agent promised to fax to the Jeffersonian. "Let's go see what the squints have uncovered," he said and pulled onto the road.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

After returning from a lunch of fine dining, Jack and Angela slipped into her office hoping for a few minutes alone. Before they had married, they used to find interesting places around the Jeffersonian to make out. The thrill of sneaking around had been intoxicating for both of them. Then Cam had given Angela a DVD recording of her and Jack's escapade in the storage room. That had put a damper on their little trysts.

"I am so stuffed," Angela admitted as she patted her belly. "I probably put on five pounds."

"I can help you work that off tonight," Jack promised, coming in for a kiss.

Angela took him into her arms greedily. Caught up in the taste and smell of each other, they did not hear Cam enter Angela's office.

"Guys, I thought the sexual urges slowed down after marriage," Cam exclaimed. She seemed always the one to catch them in the act.

Angela and Jack ended the kiss, but kept their arms around one another. Staring into her husband's eyes, Angela responded to Cam, "I hope not." Jack grinned back.

"Well, when you're through idolizing each other, I have the list of farms within a hundred mile radius that are licensed to use paraquat."

Angela turned to stand beside her husband as Jack accepted the list from Cam. He studied the list before commenting, "Stanley Tobacco and Grains in Alexandria, Virginia. They're the closest. Let's request an employee list from them first."

"Good idea," Cam agreed. "Why don't you get right on that?" She seemed thrilled to break up their little office hanky panky.

"Ah, a squint conference," Booth said as he and Brennan entered Angela's office. He clapped his hands together eagerly. "What have you got for me?"

Angela groaned, but to her credit, quickly shifted into work mode. There would be time later for her and Jack. Plenty of time.

"So far, a list of commercial farms that use paraquat," Cam replied.

"Someone who had access to paraquat either killed Heidi Leidel or helped someone else," Hodgins added.

"My bets on the girlfriend," Angela said. Everyone stared at her. "If my guy was fooling around with young girls, I'd want to eliminate the threat." Jack grinned at her with admiration.

"I was studying the photographs before lunch and I noticed something," Cam informed them. She walked over to Angela's computer and brought one of the images up through the network. She swivelled the monitor around to offer the group a view. "The girl's clothes. The jacket is zipped up fully, the collar turned upward." She switched to another photograph. "And look at her pants, how the belt is looped around and pulled too tight."

"What does that mean?" Brennan asked. She understood the messages bones left behind, but when it came to other types of clues, she often needed helpful interpretations from her colleagues.

"It means whoever redressed her was not the same person who raped her. This person wanted to cover up as much of the girl's body as possible."

"The girlfriend," Angela interjected.

"Okay, so someone redressed the girl after she had been murdered," Booth conceded. "That doesn't necessarily indicate that this person was the murderer. However, an accomplice might lead us to the murderer. What did trace reveal?"

"There was a blue cotton fiber stuck on the belt buckle," Cam informed them.

"The waitress uniform Gilbert was wearing was blue," Booth recalled.

"I'll go get it so you can run a match." Cam walked around Booth and Brennan and out of Angela's office.

After a moment of silence passed among the group, Brennan thought it the appropriate time to bring up Zack. "You should really go visit Zack," she told Hodgins and Angela.

"We've been meaning to but–" Angela started. She faltered.

"We're not sure what to say to him," Hodgins finished. "He was our friend. How do you act around someone who did something so horrible." He could not bring himself to use the word "murder."

"I visit him every Sunday." Noting the shocked look on their faces, Brennan elaborated. "Most people go to church on Sunday. I don't. So, I visit Zack."

"So that's your big secret, Bones," Booth said with astonishment.

Booth's phone rang and he answered, "Booth." He listened for a moment, then said, "Thank you." After hanging up, he informed the group, "The police have Brian Lewis in custody." He turned to Brennan. "Let's go see if we can get a confession out of him." He followed Brennan toward the door, but before exiting, he turned back. "You guys should go visit Zack. It'll give you some closure."

As he entered the interrogation room with Brennan following behind him, Booth slapped the pictures of Heidi Leidel's remains on the table before Brian Lewis. "Heidi Leidel," he said as he took a seat. Brennan sat on his right. " A vibrant, young girl. . .a ten year old girl, her life snuffed out. You want to tell me why you were bringing young girls into the attic of a home that didn't belong to you. Why Heidi Leidel is now dead!"

"I didn't kill her!" Lewis insisted. His long blond hair was pulled back loosely in a pony tail. He looked as though he hadn't shaved in three or four days. Sickened by the photographs, he scowled and turned away.

"When we get the results of your DNA test, I'm sure it will tell a different story. Evidence doesn't lie. You could only help your case if you didn't either."

"You'd be amazed how much bones talk," Brennan added.

"It'll match," Lewis said, closing his eyes and covering his face with his hands. "They were so beautiful. I just wanted to touch them. I didn't mean to –"

"Kill them," Booth interjected. He pushed one of the pictures toward the suspect.

"No! I swear to you that I did not kill any of those girls." Forcing himself to look at the photograph, he gently ran his finger along the skull. The gesture seemed affectionate in a perverse way. "We just played house for a few days, then they went home. I think they enjoyed it; time away from their bland lives."

At that moment, a police officer and Emily Gilbert walked passed the glass partition that separated the interrogation room from the hall. "What's she doing here?" Lewis demanded.

"She's your girlfriend and therefore, a suspect. Imagine that."

"She's not my girlfriend anymore. She's crazy!"

Booth tapped one of the photographs of Heidi Leidel's remains. "Does it look like she enjoyed herself?" he asked.

"I didn't kill her," Lewis said slowly, emphasizing each word. "I'll plead guilty to the rape charges, but I ain't going down for no murder."

When Lewis' DNA results came back a positive match to the semen found on Heidi Leidel's remains, he was officially charged with four counts of rape of a minor. The murder charge was pending more evidence.


End file.
